To Cleave Time
by YellowFlicker
Summary: They say that the first soul mosters drag to hell is the one that haunts them longest, deathless and peaceless, forever. They say that loving shadows, life after life, drives even gods to madness; that death warms in front of lovers ,and that the kiss is immortal, traveling history from lip to lip. Vladimir thinks all this is true, and that time is mistress of all punishmets
1. Chapter 1

_I, that was proud and valiant, am no more; —-  
>Save as a dream that wanders wide and late,<br>Save as a wind that rattles the stout door,  
>Troubling the ashes in the sheltered grate.<em>

_Edna St. Vincent Millay_

He had nightmares of the look on her face as she fell; as he grabbed her by the waist and turned them around, his body hitting the rocks, the bones in him shattering with the force of it… but not enough to kill him. Now he could no longer remember why he had thought that taking the first force of the hit would have been better. How he could have thought he could protect her that way. Her frame had never been frail, and yet her bones still broke like glass. It made no difference to her body, and Vlad had not know enough about physics back then to understand why that was. He had only known the certainty of her maiming: heard the blood flooding the inside of her, in places where it should not go. She would drown in her own life, from within.

He had known that, even as he turned himself, frantic and afraid, to speak to her, to see her. To _beg_… he who had never begged to anyone before but his god.

And to no avail. It was too late. She had known that before he did. She had faced it before he did.

Their way of being stretched even in death it seemed, with Mirena looking straight at the undeniable truth and not flinching.

He had not been able to do the same. He could not.

When he had taken the first drop of blood in his body, he had not been thinking about the full extent of what it meant. Not clearly. The heaviness of the curse, like a sword strapped by a thin thread atop his head, was ever present, and the half-existence it would mean for him, that could not be ripped off him either. But when Mirena lay there, life deserting her with each small breath, all these weights had been pushed down violently by the talon of grief. All reality diluted into this simple fact: she was in his arms and she was dying. The strength of a hundred men could not save her. All that power meant nothing. His only son was in the hands of his enemies and the burn of the rising sun behind him meant that Vlad would not be able to save him either.

It had all been for nothing, he though desperately.

But Mirena thought differently. Even death could not rob her of hope, not even tragedy could diminish her bravery. There is still time, she told him, but Vlad felt it in his heart: time had run out. For her and for him both as well as their people.

But _not_ for their son.

It was in her eyes, as well as his: deathless conviction. She did not care of damnation, if it would save their boy. And neither had he. A curse of old had seemed like nothing, it had not mattered then. Pain and rage, and grief - they had taken over. Giving in to Mirena's plea as she lay dying had been done out of desperation, yes, but by the time Vlad sank his teeth in her throat and sucked the last of her life away, he had already decided his existences as a monster would be a short one.

He took her life... and as he did so he was not even aware that he was killing one of his most beloved.

That more than anything, would haunt him through centuries to come. That at her throat, he had known the savagery of an animal, and not even the presence of mind to feel sorry that he was undoing his own love with his very hands. He would soon enough though. Animal and man met in him, as he felt the curse of what he became melt and take root, like a festering in his soul.

He had saved his son, with her blood still under his nails. And ended his accursed existence as an act of penitence. His last act...

Useless, of course. Dying became a privilege for Dracul, son of the devil.

He had been so recent to the shadows then. A newborn monster is not so different from a child really. Time had taught him the crevices and shades of the dark, and all its hidden pits. It had taught him control of his powers and mastery of his senses. It was in time that the true extent of his curse had manifested itself in a way Vladimir had never dared to imagine. When he had awakened a true vampire at Mirena's throat, having drained her of her lifeblood, he had thought that that had been what the vampyr of the cave had meant: that by killing her had been how Vlad would destroy everything he ever held dear. He had thought _that_ was the moment when his curse displayed in full. His heart never stopped feeling the guilt of it, and that certainly helped reinforce the conviction.

But it was not destined to be as simple as that.

Time… time above all, and the way it did not pass for him, seemed to be the greatest master of punishments.


	2. Chapter 2

She was frightened the first days she came to court. There were so many people, there was always so much noise… and she was always alone despite of it. Nobody spoke to her and when they did, all they had to say was how lovely she looked and what a fine lady she would one day make. Mirena was not sure if she wanted more attention than that, but she knew she was starting to feel lonely. Her only companion was her caretaker and Lady Alexandra of house Vintila was so dour that Mirena dread her set face and that rigid, thin mouth. The lady had caught her toying with a piece of dried lavender one night. Mirena had been hiding it in a little box among her dolls, along with small things she stole from her mother's room before she left. A piece of torn lace, a small bottle of scented water, dried herbs and flowers to scent her gowns. Her mother had always smelled of flowers. Lady Alexandra though had told Mirena severely that holding on to such things was foolish and sentimental. That she had to grow out of those feelings because this was the royal court and frailty in women was only meant to be an image, but not the truth.

Mirena understand nothing of it, but at night she ate the dry lavender, tasting its sandiness and almost choking on it. The next morning her trinkets are nowhere to be found and she is send to bed with only water for dinner because she refuses to tell where she hid them.

She missed home always, all the time. She missed her brothers and her friends… and her parents. She knew she would never see either of them ever again: Mirena was young to the world at the age of six, but she was old enough, it seemed, to understand the concept of death. Or at least understand that it meant separation. She did not however fully comprehend the severity of its final nature: she prayed every day for as long as lady Alexandra would allow her. She got down on her knees, clasped tiny hands tightly together, and promised god she would be good and never spill milk at dinner ever again, never run with the boys or tear her dresses or talk back to her ladies or frighten the chickens... she would be good, if only god could return her parents to her. She promised and promised. Every day, for two whole months.

God never answered, but one night the queen envied her to dine in the private chambers.

Lady Alexandra was exultant over it. She kept reminding Mirena of what to do and what not to do, and Mirena would have liked to tell the lady, just once, that she knew all that. Her mother taught her, before god chose to take her to heaven. But the lady is adamant and Mirena is quiet, because she has been promising good behaviour for so long that it's a way of being now. She has not noticed that she has hardly spoken a five words together in the last weeks. People like silent girls in this place - Mirena is clever enough to understand that quickly.

The queen Vasilissa Catuna is not at all as frightening as the Lady Alexandra made her to be. Mirena is a little afraid, because the queen seems to her as unreachable as a star, beautiful and sad, but the smile she gives is kind as she invites Mirena to sit beside her. The queen's smile widens, her eyes soften. they are eyes of dark hazel, that seem even darker in the candlelight.

"Tell me, Mirena, how do you like the palace?"

Mirena answers without having to think too much. She has been trained rigorously for this conversation.

"I like it very much, your grace. Everything here is beautiful. I am grateful and humbled you took me as a ward and I thank you."

The queen's smile becomes amused and she leans back on her seat, now examining Mirena like all the other's usually do.

"You are quite poised for one so young. But then again I am not surprised; you mother was a lady of rare presence. She has taught you well."

Mirena feels her heart jump. Her eyes show it and the queen in her shrewdness knows right then, the malady that afflicts this little doll and that is puzzling her caretakers so. The child is simply grieving. The queen knows something intimate about that. They are wrong to think the girl is too young to understand her loss, Vasilissa can see it in the little girl's eyes: she is hurting for the loss of her parents with the strength any heart can.

"Thank you, your grace." Mirena says slowly.

The queen leans forward on the table, puts her hand on Mirena's birdlike shoulder, catches a golden curl with her finger.

"You are the image of your mother. Did you know that, little dove?"

Mirena nods, and her eyes fill up with tears despite herself.

"She and I were the very best of friends. We grew up together, in this very hall. We were as close as sisters could be, and I loved her dearly."

Mirena looks up, unashamed of her tears this time.

"I promised her, long before you were born, that I would take care of you, if she were not here to do so herself. You are not alone, Mirena."

At this Mirena looks down again. She has never heard the queen speak this way and is at loss for words. The queen's presence had always been a distant one. Mirena had been told never to approach her and never to speak out of turn. And yet the queen is saying to her what nobody has said in almost two months since she came to this place.

"Look at me, little dove." the queen urges softly, her voice comes from much closer.

Mirena looks up and the queen in kneeling by her chair, looking at her in the eye.

"I am sorry for neglecting your presence and ask that you forgive me. I have recently suffered loss as well."

And there it is, that inconsolable sadness in her clear round face again. Mirena knows about that. About how the queen's sons were taken from her, given to the sultan of a great empire. A blood tribute, people called it in whispers. Mirena did not understand what that was, but even she knew how to recognize the loss of something precious. The pain of it was indelible in the queen's eyes, sorrow hanging about her the same way her scent of roses did.

"We shall be each-other's companions, you and I. What say you?" the queen tries with a small smile, almost encouraging. She wipes Mirena's face with a napkin and takes her up in her arms. Mirena is startled, but clings because the gesture if familiar. Her mother used to pick her up as well, and they would dance together, spinning about the hall in laughter.

The queen's smile is tentative, but so gentle.

Mirena can only nod her head, sniffing a little.

"Good. Now tell me, little dove, did your mama ever sing the Danube's lullaby to you?"

Mirena's little heard thumbs in her chest.

"Yes. Every night."

The queen chuckles.

"I thought so. Our lady used to sing us to sleep with it, you see, when we were about your age. I shall sing it to you tonight."

This time Mirena does not say the proper thank you, as Lady Alexandra instructed. She links tiny arms around the queen's neck and presses her face there, at the crook of her shoulder instead. The queen shushes her, one hand rubbing gently on her back.


	3. Chapter 3

He remembers clearly the first time he truly saw her. She did not stand out to him at first. She was beautiful, no doubt, striking, but there were many other beautiful ladies in his father's court – other more willing than she ever was, to make themselves acquainted with his gaze. No, it had taken him looking beneath the vanish of courtly lavishness and games, to see her truly. And even then, it was through words of others, of how they spoke of her (they were so quick to tell him): the golden Lady of the Hall of kings. His mother's favorite, his father's ward. The last of one of the noblest families of his country.

She who greeted him with cool politeness and never tried to catch his eye like the others. He was the prince returned. He would be crowned king as within the month. Fathers and mothers were parading their daughters before him as if they were colorful birds for him to pluck; his council was at his neck, pressing to chose a bride and have an heir, and the whole kingdom knew of it. It amused him to some extent, the games they played to get his favor even thought they were so palpably weary of him. Vlad was no stranger to machinations – having survived his training as a weapon of war, and being the only one of his father's sons left alive, he had been educated on the ruthlessness of politics in the household of the sultan, under the same tutors as Mehmed himself. Moving in military circles and being a distinguished leader made him into a person of interest, and Vlad had inhabited the sultan's court long enough to know games of court were no less dangerous than the ones in battle. But being a man of directness and preferring action, there was only so much of it he could take with graceful patience.

It was after that patience had been exhausted, that his eye caught hold of her, the Lady Mirena Istvanm, and held. She was interesting because she was carefully out of the norm with her coolness of manner, but never quite enough to violate protocol.

It had seemed to amuse him at first. Made him think she had another whom she loved and was desperately trying not to catch his eye. After all, there was nobody left to push her forth for his notice. She had no father, no brothers and no guardians anymore and those who claimed to be her family seemed to have no true foothold over her.

Who did she have exactly? Why did she linger at the royal palace: Vlad had never thought to ask.

And then he caught her one day at a hidden corner of the gardens, kneeling at his mother's statue beneath a canopy of roses, heavy cloak drawn about her, hiding her. Vlad does not know why he was so certain who it had been beneath that hood. He had not recognized her as much as _known_ it was she, praying there for a woman long dead, the mother he only remembers as a passing image in dreams and faded memories.

"They say you loved her as if she was your own mother."

She startles, turns to him with wide eyes and fear flickers in that usually-so-opaque face. It lingers there for a moment. It was a breath, but enough for him to realize that she was startled by the interruption, but that it was _him_ she feared, and that had nothing to do with him giving her a monetary scare.

_She fears me._

He knew it with clarity.

He resented it with the same strength, the flash of indignation going thorough him like lightning. What right did she have to judge him? She knew nothing of the life he'd lead and knew little enough of the world to take rumor for truth.

But then again… then again, how could she possibly know different? all the world feared him. with good reason.

Vlad sighed, as the lady got up from her prayer and bowed to him.

"My prince." She spoke softly, her voice was steady.

"My lady. forgive me for startling you. it was not my intent." even though it as a lie. he had been purposefully silent as he approached her. he can see it in the narrowing of her eyes - almost imperceptible - that she does not believe him.

"It was nothing, your grace." she responds calmly, with a polite smile. cool. she is so very cool and distant. flat almost. had his mother truly favored this bloodless creature as much as they said? What for, he wonders?

"Do you miss her, my lady? Is that why you come here?" he stays still as he asks her this. he favors this lady little besides a random curiosity, but he does not want to see that fear in her eyes again.

"I do, your grace. The queen was very kind to me, when I had nobody left to this world. We walked often in these gardens. It eases me to come here and remember her."

Vlad feels sudden envy, irrational and quite silly, for this girl that knew the parents he lost better than he will ever know them. to him, they are shadows, memories, hardly even real. to her...

"Did you know her well, lady Mirena?" he hears himself asking. the surprise flickers in her eyes. she swallows a little before answering. he would believe her stillness as perfect platitude, if he did not see how tightly she was clutching her hands in front of her, her knuckles turning pale.

detachedly, he admires her ability to hold herself together without a single clank in that armor of manners.

"I knew her majesty the queen as well a she would allow me, your grace. Your mother..." Her hesitation lasts only a blink, and no further. "She was a strong woman. I have tried to learn from her as much as I could."

he relents, and only then does he realize he was lingering only to make her uncomfortable. strange... he has never known himself to be so petty. and to a lady, no less.

the sting of shame makes him avert his eyes from hers to the statue that depicts his mother's likeness.

"I would like for you to tell me about her, if you would." He says then, gently, as he turns his eyes to hers again. "I do not remember her well."

Lady Mirena gives her consent with a small curtsy to him.

"I would be honored, your grace."

"Did she speak of her sons?" and it's a question that makes him appear too open, and is perhaps too forward, but he wants to draw something more out fo this girl, than this careful politeness without spirit.

And he does.

"Oh yes." She says quickly, and then stops, to collect herself. "She spoke of you and your brothers often and always with affection, your grace. At the very end, her last thoughts were of you, my prince." She adds softly. the confidence of her speech did not waver, but she does not look at him. this senseless dread she reserves for him is turning from a prickle of annoyance to a stab of irritation very quickly.

"You were with her, when she died?" he is almost curt, but not quite.

"I was."

"Did she suffer?"

Her pause makes him frown and something in his chest twitches. Echo of a pain he should be feeling for a mother he remembers less than he should like. Two and ten years of age was too soon to leave home behind, thirteen years too many to spend away.

"Not for long, your grace." The lady answers, and this time she is looking at him, and there is a tentative opening about her, a softening of her face and her eyes.

"Do you fear me, Lady Mirena?" he bluntly asks. her surprise at such a question makes her almost flinch, but she does not blink as she looks at him. she is brave, but there is an aftertaste of resignation in that gesture as well.

"Yes."

she says it calmly. steadily.

if he didn't know better he would doubt her.

"You do not sound like you do."

"Fear affects each creature of god differently, I suppose. it turns some into fools."

_but not you._

"You do not need to fear me, lady. I am no threat to you and I mean you no harm."

"of course. forgive me, your grace." she promptly says and he feels a curtain that had only been drawn open as now slid closed again. it was but a glimpse of her he saw.

"Time will prove the truth of my words Lady Mirena. I bid you good day."

"Good day to you, your grace." and this time her curtsy is deep and she does not rise until the sound of his boots has faded. he takes care to step on dried leaves and branches this time, to assure her he has left her presence.


End file.
